Not a chance, right? Have you met me? After having a quick look around to make sure I’m not standing on a trapdoor I’d have to, I’d be all over it. I mean wouldn’t you..?
I often think that I have a surplus of curiosity running through my veins, so not pressing something that says don’t press me isn’t really an option. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not an adrenaline junkie, far from it, especially these days. And I don’t even like breaking the rules, not really. I’m a bit of a fanny in that regard, I guess I don’t like getting told off.
No, the thing that would get me about that button is that I don’t know what would happen, if I pushed it. Not knowing would push my buttons, and I’d start to obsess about it. My desire to conform would be overtaken at some point by my need to know.
I’d drive myself nuts thinking about every possible scenario and what might happen if I pressed it. I’d even wonder whether someone put it there as sort of a double-bluff and maybe there’s a massive reward for the one person who has the balls to press it. As someone who generally keeps off the grass if there’s a sign telling me I should, I find the thought of describing myself as someone who likes to break the rules strangely compelling, because it makes me sound a bit cool, you know? A rebel if you like.
And that’s so not me. But I’d still have to push that button.
Except…if someone switched out the label for one that read ‘self destruct’ that’d be a whole other ball game, kind of like my very own ‘keep off the grass’ sign for buttons. See I know what happens when you push that button. It’s a button I’m familiar with, in fact if you found a self destruct button and dusted it for fingerprints, I guarantee mine would be all over it. I sometimes think that I’ve got so used to standing with my finger on it that I don’t even notice any more.
I’ve thought a lot about this today. I can’t think of a single other example ever of me going up the scale by one pound without blowing my diet off completely out of sheer bloodymindedness because I’ve ruined it so what’s the point of carrying on, really? I was worried yesterday, just for a moment because I know my default reaction to an unexpected gain…it’s not pretty. And that pound would’ve easily turned into five pounds, and then ten, at warp speed.
Which is why I’m so grateful for Sunday’s clean day, long walk and penance on the hurt machine before bed. I’m grateful that yesterday I ate man crisps and pointed them with my battery-powered thingamabob, and still ate a healthy supper. And I’m happy that today I managed to find a 45 minute window in the middle of my working day to go out and walk in the fresh air.
I know where the self-destruct button is, and I walked away. I mean it was there, all red and shiny but I could clearly see ‘self destruct’ etched around the outside of it, and I chose to keep off the grass and carry on doing my thing, and do it better than I did last week. I’m not even rattled, not one little bit. One foot in front of the other, and repeat.
That, my friends is progress.
